


Just Desserts

by Oshii



Series: I Have That Effect on Women ;) Lucifer H/C Prompt Fills [7]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Food Poisoning, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, Season 3 Spoilers, Sickfic, Vomiting, adorbs, back rubbing, emeto, fussy!Ella, lucifer is just trying to help, pierce just wants to die, pierce would have preferred if lucifer discussed this with him first, sick!Cain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 15:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18285434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshii/pseuds/Oshii
Summary: SEASON 3 SPOILERS AHEAD!!!Pierce utilizes his Lieutenant Privileges to swipe some unmarked peach cobbler from the precinct fridge. Karma’s a bitch, especially when you've recently asked the Devil himself to assist in hastening your demise.H/C, emeto, nausea/vomiting and back rubbing! Featuring fussy!Ella being awesome and kind, and super sick Pierce. ;)





	Just Desserts

**Author's Note:**

> for an anonymous Tumblr prompt:
> 
> "if cain is now a requestable option, i'd like to put in my request for him getting sick one day at the precinct and for ella checking in on him and fussing over him."
> 
> Posted March 27, 2019.   
> Original link: https://oshii.tumblr.com/post/183740938369/if-cain-is-now-a-requestable-option-id-like-to

Living through thousands of years of tumult and repetition alike had taught Cain every aspect of his strengths and his weaknesses. He lauded his triumphs when deserved and he reflected upon his failures, and he sought every conceivable form of employment he could think of, besides farming. In the days of yore, he was both a bounty hunter and an executioner; a thief and a murderer and a lover, even a husband, thrice. Once from pity, the second time for money, and the third time borne from true love. Outliving all three of his brides (spaced several centuries apart) was enough to keep Cain from making  _that_  mistake again, and he denounced any further egregious affairs with women (or men, for that matter) and sought to ease his pain through becoming a stoic and gloomy asshole, lest any harlot dare try and steal his heart again.

Between the constant and ubiquitous heartbreak of watching his loved ones die – generations of them – coupled with the infallible reminder of his cursed indestructibility burned into his bicep like a cross, Cain could hardly be blamed for his unsmiling countenance, or for the myriad of shady-ass decisions he’d made. The most recent of which – not being murder, or a frame job, or theft, or adultery – was eating the unmarked peach cobbler in the precinct fridge on a Tuesday, in Los Angeles, in the year 2018 A.D.

Cain – Pierce, as he’d come to be known here, his recycled alibi throughout the last three hundred years or so – was really more of a key lime pie guy, but he’d been feeling a little hypoglycemic, so the homemade cobbler had done nicely. He’d been licking the crumbs from his fingers when Lucifer swept into the breakroom, and to the Devil’s unwelcome arrival, he’d chalked up the sudden sour twist in his gut.

“Ah,” grinned Lucifer, placing a hand over his heart in mock indignation. “It appears being Lieutenant does have its privileges.”

Cain rolled his eyes and set the empty Tupperware on the counter. “What do you want, Lucifer?”

“Well, I  _was_  after that very same cobbler myself, but it seems I’ll have to make do with Teeny Tiny Donuts instead. Have you got a few singles to spare? The vending machine doesn’t take hundos, I’m afraid.”

Cain smirked. “My condolences. If you’re not here to kill me, then excuse me, I have work to do.” And he’d pushed past Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, making sure to throw in a nice shoulder-check on his way out. Any normal man would’ve bounced off the doorframe, but he was entirely unsurprised to hear Lucifer’s throaty little chuckle teasing him as he walked back to his office.

One hour later, paperwork completely abandoned and churning nausea risen to full, sweating, horrible force, Cain heard that same taunting chuckle echoing beneath his own pounding heart, sinister as torture. His shirt clung to his back, and sweat dotted his brow and upper lip. Blood roared in his ears, pounding in time with his heartbeat, pulsing through the soft tissues of his expanding skull. The trash can between his feet was half-full with vomit (to put it optimistically), and he doubled over as another heave clenched through his stomach, tightening all his muscles and wringing the very fucking _life_  out of him.

“Oh, God…” he panted in the aftermath, and wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve.

“At least that’s not a good shirt, right?”

His head jerked up to see Ella Lopez standing in the doorway, eyes huge but smile doggedly in place, radiating reassurance and sympathy. In her hands were a bottle of water and several paper towels, which she held aloft as an offering – an olive branch, he thought, and the imagery made him gag harder. Stars bloomed white, and suddenly he felt the warmth of Ella’s small hand on his back, rubbing circles.

“There you go,” she was murmuring – soothing, feminine, sparking lots of memories, channeling strength. “Get it all up. Doesn’t that feel better?”

Truthfully, her ministrations did feel wonderful, but he wasn’t about to admit that, incapacitated as he was. “Lopez,” he croaked when he could breathe again, “how’d you find me?”

Ella did not stop her slow circles, bless her, even though he’d mostly gotten his stomach under control. “Lucifer sent me to check on you,” she replied conspiratorially. “He said you were feeling pretty icky.”

“Lucifer…” Through the swelling ebb and flow of nausea, and dizziness, Cain blinked as clarity formed. He’d been poisoned. That mother _fucker_.

The chuckle returned, echoing once more through the periphery of his recent memory, and the realization of Lucifer’s latest assassination attempt left him reeling and very disappointed. Like he hadn’t attempted poisoning himself, dozens of times! And, God, it’d sucked, horribly,  _every single time_.

Cain’s stomach rebelled again, and his torso bent over dramatically with the force of the next dry heave. Relentlessly, his innards squeezed until a thin dribble of bile dripped from his mouth and onto the papers in the wastebasket, darkening the mess already settling in there. Gasping for air, Cain moaned miserably, and Ella took this as a sign to redouble her comforting efforts, raising her other hand to stroke his hair back. “Hey, hey,” she coached. “Easy, big guy. Don’t want a Mallory-Weiss on our hands. Just breathe.”

Blinking away tears, there wasn’t much else Cain  _could_  do in that moment but breathe. Ragged and breathy, he slowly wrestled back control once again, and this time sat slowly upright and reached for the water bottle that had been placed on his desk.

“Careful,” Ella admonished, voice rising a little with uncertainty. “Just rinse. Don’t want an encore, right?”

Cain did rinse, hating how shaky his fingers were as he unscrewed the bottle cap. The water felt good in his mouth, cold and refreshing, and he could feel the beginnings of repair within his inflamed stomach lining. Once the contaminants were out of his system, healing was remarkably efficient. The only thing was, he still had to evacuate like a human, before he could heal like an immortal. His abdomen was still sore, and his back still ached. Definitely not fun by any means, and surely  _not_  his preferred method of execution.

Lucifer was going to pay,  _big time_.

“Thanks, Lopez,” he acquiesced, trying to inject some soft ghost of authority back into his tone, but offering her a fleeting smile for her contributions. “You can go tell Lucifer I’m feeling much better, thanks to you, and if you see Captain Williams, let him know I’m leaving for the day, and to take over for me.”

Oh, he was very much looking forward to seeing that drawling smug bastard before he left, though. If there was one thing Cain understood – one flaw that had never been tempered from his soul through eons of self-reflection – it was revenge.

And, like revenge, key lime pie was a dish best served cold.


End file.
